'Gundo Love Parte Uno

K inspired me. Again. With all this California love I couldn't help but think about my own beautiful El Segundo aka Second City. Known for housing the Chevron refinery, the Hyperion water treatment plant and most importantly known for being the buffer between Manhattan Beach and LAX. It's this charming little place that I miss. My cats live here as do my closest friends. I miss the Tavern on Main, where I would arrive at 6 am and not leave until someone came to pick me up that evening during the 2010 World Cup. From here I saw La Furia Roja win their first championship. I miss going to the gym, the post office and grabbing lunch at Original Rinaldis all in less than a two mile walk. I miss the chilaquiles con chorizo from Tarasco. I miss drinking Stone at Rock n Brew while listening to some of my favorite rock songs and eating a pizza cut in squares. A pizza with avocado. I miss avocados. On everything. I miss running west with nothing to look at but the pacific ocean. Board shorts, havianas and my beach cruiser. Yes, please. Head north to Mendocino Farms in Marina del Rey or head south to the Sharks Cove in Man Beach. I miss the Scott Whyte Band playing Honky Tonk Woman while I order three fingers of Glenlivet from Ryan. I miss the pain inflicted by the gigantic hill on Grand between the beach and Main. I miss how cold it always is in Whole Foods. I miss the guy on the scooter that I would always run into while walking to the gym (Timaaaay). I miss walking on a sidewalk as opposed to gravel, rocks and mud. I miss the smell of anything that is not the smell of burning garbage, even the treatment plant smells better. I miss not needing chapstick. I miss how the sound of planes used to mean freedom, not war.

Chase this Light -Jimmy Eat World

Far from the Best Coast: Cali Love, Part 2

As I continue to draft Days 2 & 3 of the "BAFLing Environment" post, a brief pause to lament on the things I miss from LA. It's therapeutic.

 

Grass, I miss grass. As previously mentioned, evertyhing here is either graveled, paved, or hard packed dirt. Nothing fun, really. I miss walking across Ocean Ave in Santa Monica and laying down in the grass in the Palisades Park. A book, a magazine, my music, dark shades, and maybe just a nap in the sunshine.

 

Interesting people and dog watching. You can walk over to the railing on the walkway that borders the California Incline and lookout on the ocean and beach. So clutch.

 

For the most part everything is green and cut short, like a golf course green. Watered daily by the morning dew and possibly a sprinkler system.

 

Disappearing into a weekend in the park on the bluff is a distinct pleasure. I miss it. Watch the calendar. Gracias.

or “BAFfling Environment: Day 1”

Uncertainty is a striking and rather crippling emotion. No longer does your natural personality show through.  All actions are calculated and guarded. Always scanning, always assessing.

Ali Al Salem was a safe haven, charted ground.  I had been there before, five years prior, and not much had changed. It's somewhat of a free zone. No one is keeping track of you while you wait for transportation to another, final, destination.  Ali is never (rarely) THE stop, just a stop.

Bagram Airfield (BAF) was a step further than I had been in to the region.  Unknown. Past experience would allow me to rationalize. Volumes of civilian contractors and Third Country Nationals must be living and working in Bagram. The place is one of the biggest bases in Afghanistan, if an airplane can land here, and we're not in head-to-toe tactical gear, it should be safe. Sounds reasonable. I was so overly cautious it seems humorous now.

The plane lands in BAF, after our four hour flight. I half read half slept the entire thing. 100% uncomfortable. I'm rubbing my ears and eyes and giving my best attempt to stretch and shift around and I hear barking. A little surprising, but not all too startling.  Probably a Military Working Dog brought in to sniff the cargo? Nope, Man's Best Friend in a crate in the back, just woken up by the landing. Dogs barking, ramp lowering, and forklift lifting all makes for overwhelming sound…or solid silence, if you still have your hearing protection in.

Finally we deplane. We walk the tarmac in a semi-cluster, but all is dark around us and I can't make out any sort of terrain beyond the airfield light towers.  We stage outside of the building, where we are greeted by two young Airmen in Halloween masks.  One unmasked Airmen is shouting out inaudible instructions, and then one of the masked Airmen attempts to repeat it to the other side of the group. We couldn't hear him. I'm glad one of the Sergeants with me yelled at him for being a dummy.

We're lead inside to a room full of seats and prepped to be sorted by follow on destination. Without fail, the Army has appointed the finest collection of thickly accented, speed-speaking, marble-mouth Soldiers to be the vocal coordinators of this group. There was a lot of our people looking at me from all corners of the room with the "Um, did he just call for us? Wait, what was that?" In swoops the liaison to lead us along.

This Sergeant is stationed here at BAF to connect with folks like us and get us where we need to go. As we shuffle out to retrieve our bags MJ's Thriller is playing through the intercom speakers of the entire facility. It was Halloween, honestly. We load up all of our stuff onto a charter bus and he leads us to our temporary billeting. It's just after Midnight at this point and all is showed in darkness. Along the route are trees, which is promising, and the only event as we navigate around is an asphalt truck caught on fire.  We're spun around, out of our element, and hungry, but this is still funny.  The local workers are running around trying to throw dirt over this flaming tar spot. It took them a good five minutes of running around to decide to just drive the truck forward a few feet.

Surrounded by 20 foot high concrete barriers, we pull into our new temp home. After a quick orientation, we send most of our group to catch midnight chow.  Ferry our bags into the tents and crash out. BAF day one complete.

To be continued…

or "Word to the Mother" (UNCLASSIFIED)

Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: FOUO

Good morning.

Today shall be a "2-fer". I'm calling it.

Part 1A: I made a new friend earlier this month. Her name is MOAC...or Mother Of All Coffees (correct, CAPS to designate a proper title).

One of my simple pleasures in life is a super charged coffee, consumed on an empty stomach OR even better on an empty stomach after an awesome workout. Hello everyone, my name is Jason...and I'm an addict.

Directly across the road from my old room was Green Beans Coffee. So close I could smell their baking when I went out to hit the showers. I had seen the posters posted inside the shop and felt a little froggy that morning, so to the nice gentlemen at the counter "I'm doing the MOAC today, my friend" "With cream? Or Black?" "WITH cream". Go big or go home, right? (NOTE: I studied their ingredients the best I could, given my lack of foreign language skills, and it looks like it's packaged relatively fresh full fat cream. BOOM.) MOAC = 24oz "House Café" with 4 Espresso shots. Not too crazy, all in all, but sicker than your average. I choked this thing down like a boss (blah blah "TWSS" I know). I was cranked up like Jason Statham in a horrible movie where I'm pretty sure he pulled the cables off of a telephone pole to kick start his heart device-thing (let it play in your head, the Crue does rock, and you know it). It has become a staple. So much for trying to manage my caffeine. I drank two on the birthday morning (thanks to Wolf), so now that threshold has been breached. Plus the crew at the Bean get to see me every morning, and who would want to deprive them of that? Let's not be so selfish here? Honestly. So, rather than care packages and other random acts of support/appreciation, spread the word about Green Bean Coffee Gift Cards (for specific Soldiers) and Cup of Joe (COJ) donations (for random Soldiers (I've received 3, directly from Golden Baby Jesus, it made my day)) for the upcoming holidays.

http://www.greenbeanscoffee.com/coffeecard/
http://www.greenbeanscoffee.com/coj/

Part 1B: Old Spice Fiji deodorant is labeled "Smells like palm trees, sunshine, and freedom". Just in case you aren't familiar with that particular blend, it also smells deliciously similar to Tropical Starburst. My gut says "boo hiss" but my nose says "oh that's swell, more please". All part of my plan to lead the Sweet-Toothed Grandes on a "March For Life" game of follow the leader. Gather round my pits and smell your new master. Off we step toward a new less-sloppy you.

Part 1C: The arrival of our main body of travelers is quickly approaching and we are very eager to receive them (right, TWSS again, got it). As all of us (read: me and the 4) observe and learn the personalities here, we have been war gaming the counterpart link ups and which will be the most interesting to watch. It's been a fun game thus far, and I'm sure that actuality will be even more entertaining than speculation. First up on the list is the Headquarters & Headquarters Company Commander matchup. It's going to be great. Not so much "OMG Lebron and D-Wade showing their 2nd place talents in South Beach" but more [Editor's Note: Sitting here staring at the computer, hamster motoring on the wheel, and nothing. Couldn't think of anything respectable. Fail.] Second on the list is the Communications NCOIC (Non-Commissioned Officer In Charge AKA Sergeant in Charge) spot. I'll reserve my descriptions of the individuals involved, for safety, but trust me it will be most excellent. Finally, not necessarily a counterpart linkup, but a mentor relationship. The Brigade Command Sergeant Major, Sword 7, head-to-head with the Forward Support Company First Sergeant, Animal 7. I vote for a ice-grill stare down contest, to the death. First to blink eats lead. That's how they do. I'll see if I can spin the Public Affairs angle to get pictures of these Soldiers together. I'm not sure if identifying images will change the game on this, but I'll roll the dice.

One down. More to follow. Check back regularly and hit refresh. Deuces.
Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: FOUO

or "Microphone Check 1, 2, 1, 2"

I've been off of the net here for a few days, so I'll explain the
"sitch". We landed, began to get settled and situated, and start
linking up with our counterparts. First step: Have network accounts
established. Boom, done. Next step: Work with counterparts to get into
the systems and start establishing communications and introductions
with the good-to-know points of contact. Ehhh, working. The guy that
sits in my (soon to be) seat is always on the computers, and when he
leaves he frequently forgets to log off. Being that I'm not that much
of a AH, I don't restart the computer to kick him off. The other side
of this is my refusal to pay excessive amounts of $ for the civilian
internet here. I'll stop in at the USO and connect to the free Wi-Fi
to get quick updates or check emails. Otherwise, I'm "bare-knuckle
expeditionary" blogger. Oh, and when I do get into the government
computer system, the restrictions block the blogspot.com site.

In an attempt to work around this, I jumped on USO Wi-Fi early this
morning and changed the settings on blogspot to allow me to post via
email.

If this test works, I'll drop another today...and continue to craft
the BAF-fling post.

Science!

or "Destination actuation"

Why is it that I reach every destination at night, in darkness, for max disorientation?

Arrived at FOB Sharana tonight. The new home sweet home for a while. I still have stories of the BAF adventures.

Y'all tell me, which would be more interesting: 1. Narrative, like normal; 2. Timestamps with brief narratives for the big parts?

It's a choose your own adventure. Fun!

Goodnight.

or "Welcome to Afghanistan"

This evening at the "Dragon Diner" dining facility on Bagram Airfield (BAF), I sat next to a gentlemen who was a douche. Plain and simple. One of those guys who is mouthy and complains about everything. He has it all figured out. The typical "they" has f'ed everything that "used to be great" because of politics/social environment/anything else a DB can spout off about. He's here as a civilian contractor, flying some type of aircraft, but is a Reserve Chief Warrant Officer 3 pilot. He is also a bad person. How do I know all of this? Well, in true DB fashion he was extremely loud and over the top obnoxious. Here are the high points of his monolog:

"Did you see the t*ts on that one over there?"
"My last tour there was a FBI Agent here, had to be mid-twenties. Hot damn..."
"The other day I was grabbing a coffee from (somewhere) and I said to the girl in front of me 'save a little sugar for me darlin'' and she responds 'It's Specialist, not darlin'.' 'oh well excuse me, it's Chief to you then.' Get over yourself, you f'ing b#tch. You mean sh*t to me."
"I wouldn't risk my marriage on you, honey. I don't want my wife to have half of the Harley's, houses, JetSki's, boats, quads, etc"
"Everything was good when I first came in, now since they elected Obama, it's all been downhill. That's why I'm doing this. The Army side is gone to hell."

I wanted to rip this guy out of his chair and shave is DB old guy beard with my plastic fork, but as he's a civilian, I hold no authority. Such a piece of crap, and so vocally proud of it. Why is the government hiring these guys to do jobs Servicemembers should be doing, at double/triple the cost?

Anyway, the lesson here is that BAF is a strange place. Like that of a Hollywood movie set about a war zone, except it's always between takes. I've only been here for a day, but it's evident that life here isn't war. Airmen walking everywhere in the streets, Soldiers riding bicycles around. Tons of hasty billeting and new buildings being constructed. Additional blocks of "Fatty Death Row" in every area like Starbucks.

Redemption? 2Pac. I walked into the Green Bean Coffee shop to blasting "Picture perfect/I paint a perfect picture/Bombin hoochies with precision/My intention to get rich/And with my muthafrakin homie/We some cold ass ninjas on the run" [paraphrased]. Pac isn't dead, he's in Afghanistan. Living right.

That's all I can handle, typing on my phone. Again soon.